you miss

you miss
black and white.
elvis
and sinatra.
mcqueen and loren.
you miss mom
and pop
everything.
real diners
with greasy
eggs and waitresses
in pink
uniforms.
a stack of wax
on the stereo.
you miss
a dog
barking.
cats in the alley
knocking
over metal
trashcans.
you miss ink on
your hands
from the sunday
paper, the sound
of it
hitting the stoop.
you miss
milk and butter,
eggs
and bacon
in the box outside
your door.
the mail
twice a day.
you miss licking
stamps.
the sound of
your grandmother's
voice cursing
politicians,
especially john
kennedy.
you miss the sound
of your brother's
and sister's
voices
filling every
room of the small
house.
you miss seeing
your father's shoes
on the steps,
your mother at
the stove always.